


what could quite possibly be the strangest and most unusual but still potentially scientifically accurate (?) way to conceive a baby

by AlexiaBlackbriar13



Series: keeping up with the smoak-queens: paradise dimension edition [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Honestly I have no idea what to tag PERIOD, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I guess this is sort of mpreg but also not so I have no idea what to tag it, Paradise Dimension, Pregnant Spoliver, Spectre Oliver, Spolicity, There is no physical pregnancy so can i even tag this as a pregnancy fic?, yes that is a tag now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23366728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaBlackbriar13/pseuds/AlexiaBlackbriar13
Summary: Because in the paradise dimension, when it comes to the mechanics of souls and sex and making babies... literally anything can happen. And literally anything DOES happen.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Series: keeping up with the smoak-queens: paradise dimension edition [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692028
Comments: 93
Kudos: 178





	what could quite possibly be the strangest and most unusual but still potentially scientifically accurate (?) way to conceive a baby

**Author's Note:**

> first off.
> 
> i was not on drugs when i wrote this. i was drinking vodka and that is it. i swear
> 
> also, this is cerys' fault as well because she helped me come up with the concept
> 
> and also shel, caitlin and calli get some of the blame because they encouraged me
> 
> ....... good luck

Since Felicity arrived in the paradise dimension slash afterlife slash Spectre dimension - Oliver really isn’t _sure_ what it actually is, which is weird because he’s sort of omnipotent now - they’ve spent three spectacular, perfect months together.

Which is why, one morning as Oliver is flipping pancakes for his wonderful wife, humming happily under his breath, he’s absolutely shocked by his stomach revolting at the smell of Felicity’s coffee. Within seconds, he’s flashing out of the kitchen of the Loft carbon copy they’ve been living in, to teleport to the nearest bathroom and throw up. He hears Felicity’s faint exclamation of astonishment and worry; he hears her call his name, but is too pre-occupied with vomiting to respond.

He’s confused. Oliver doesn’t like being confused, because it makes him anxious. The part of him that’s the Spectre now, all-powerful and all-knowing, is baffled by what is happening and doesn’t have an explanation for it. He shouldn’t be able to get sick, from an infection, disease or any kind of food poisoning. But Oliver’s insides feel as if they’re _fizzing_. He’s like a soda can that’s been shaken up and is ready to explode. There’s a tremulous rolling and somersaulting occurring in the lower half of his body, his organs feeling _tight_ and _condensed_. And that’s really saying something, because he’s not even meant to have organs anymore. He’s just given his physical form them because it’s familiar and he likes to feel human, even though he isn’t.

“Oliver?” The bathroom door swings open to frame his wife, who adjusts her glasses nervously and peers down at him in bemusement. When she catches sight of him bent over the toilet, Felicity’s eyes widen. “Are you _throwing up_?”

“I… think so?” he answers, dazed.

“Can you even do that anymore?” She looks amazed by the idea of him, the Spectre, an ethereal celestial being, actually being sick.

“Apparently. I think I’m done. Help me up?” He groans, his abdomen cramping, as Felicity carefully aids him in getting back onto his feet and leads him out of the bathroom into the living room. “Oh man, this is weird. I feel all…”

“Icky?” Felicity suggests.

“Bloated,” he finishes, shaking his head, baffled. “Everything inside me feels like its shifting. Like all my organs are doing gymnastics or something.”

Concerned, Felicity slowly guides him down onto his couch so he can sit back and rest for a moment. Sliding onto the cushions next to him, she worms her hands underneath his Henley and t-shirt so she can examine his stomach, stroking her fingertips over the area cautiously. What’s strange is that physically, it doesn’t hurt at all, but her touch elicits weird sub-dimensional vibrations. It’s like his _soul_ is tender, rather than his body.

“Do you think you’ve caught some kind of celestial stomach bug?” Felicity asks. “Do those even exist?”

“I honestly have no idea. I might have to astral project to figure it out.”

Felicity somehow manages to look even more worried. She hates it when he astral projects, withdrawing his soul from his physical form so he and the Spectre can exist outside of time and space. But if this is something soul-related, Oliver isn’t going to be able to work out what exactly is happening to him unless he’s able to examine his soul directly.

It takes a minute or two for Oliver to get into the headspace needed for him to astral project. He always has so many thoughts whizzing around at once, even more now he’s the Spectre, and finds it difficult to clear his mind as necessary. Once he’s relaxed enough, slumped on the couch, he consciously attempts to separate his soul from his body. It feels odd and rather uncomfortably, sort of like he’s trying to squeeze himself through a capillary tube, but once he’s achieved it and is free from his physical form, he feels unbelievably light, hovering in the ether dimension that is constant and everchanging in every universe.

Poking and prodding at his own soul isn’t pleasant, but it does help him understand what’s wrong. Bizarrely, a small fragment of his soul seems to have broken off from the main mass of it and to Oliver’s further amazement, appears to have joined up and entwined with a tiny piece of Felicity’s soul. The little amalgamation isn’t connected to either of them, almost as if the soul fragment hybrid has become its own being. Small as it is, as weak and feeble as it looks, it pulses with life. It exists in what looks and feels to Oliver like its own separate small pocket dimension - which is attached to his physical form. He has about a million questions about what this is and what it means.

The Spectre’s whispering at the back of the mind enlightens him, and sends Oliver’s soul jackhammering back into his human form. He jolts upward with a pained gasp, his breathing coming out strained and heavy because of the sudden return to the physical world. Felicity steadies him, rubbing his shoulders and brushing her fingers delicately through his hair to ground him. He blinks up at the ceiling blurrily, his insides once again feeling all fuzzy and bubbly. This time, he knows why. That extra pocket dimension that’s settled in his abdomen, housing and protecting the soul fusion.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, peering through the Loft’s ceiling. It’s soothing to see the beautiful, swirling, igniting and collapsing cosmos beyond, that surrounds his and Felicity’s dimension. “I - I think I’m pregnant.”

Felicity freezes. “I’m sorry, what?”

He turns to look at her, making sure he looks sincere. He still does not really understand this at all, but that is what the Spectre seems to have concluded and therefore it _has_ to be true, impossible or not. His voice shakes as he repeats, “I think I might be pregnant.”

She stares at him.

He stares back.

“Oliver, how can you _think_ you’re pregnant? That’s not _possible_. You - you don’t even have a uterus, you can’t be growing a baby inside of you, that’s against the laws of all physics and nature,” she says, sounding progressively more panicked as she continues, eyes wild with anxiety. “You can’t be pregnant!”

“But I am,” he replies, stunned. “There’s this weird extra-dimensional pocket thing down here,” he motions to his lower half, “And there is a tiny little being made from fragments of both of our souls in there, and it’s _alive_.” Using his Spectre abilities, Oliver extends an astrally-projected finger to gently stroke the amalgamation - _the baby?_ \- and inhales sharply when it wriggles in response to being touched, feeling so much like him and Felicity but also somebody else, entirely new and incredibly excited to exist.

His wife stands and begins to nervously pace in front of him, wringing her hands. Oliver watches her helplessly. “Are you trying to tell me you have a meta-physical kangaroo pouch? Are you a celestial marsupial now!?” Felicity questions in alarm. “Or are you like a seahorse? An other-worldly, god-like seahorse? Oh god, you’re not carrying hundreds of soul babies in there, are you? They’re not going to explode out of you if you sneeze one day, are they!?”

He blinks, aghast. “What are you talking about?”

“SEAHORSES, Oliver!” Felicity insists.

Lurching to his feet, the archer firmly takes a hold of his wife’s shoulders, shaking them lightly as he tells her in a high-pitched tone, “Okay, you need to stop freaking out! Only one of us can freak out at once because the other person needs to be able to calm them down. We can’t _both_ freak out! And I’m the one freaking out right now!”

The two of them fall silent, breathing heavily and gazing deeply into each other’s eyes. Oliver isn’t afraid to admit that he’s terrified. This is an entirely unknown variable being introduced into their relationship. Yes, they’ve had a baby before, but that was through conventional human means; Felicity was pregnant for nine months with Mia and there weren’t any extra dimensions involved. He can see Felicity’s fear and apprehension in the hunched way she holds herself, how she bites her bottom lip and her brow furrows. Her gaze flits down to his stomach for a second, her frown intensifying, before flying back up to his face.

“Can it even technically be called a pregnancy if you’re not carrying the baby physically inside yourself?” Felicity asks.

“I don’t know.” 

“Are you going to look pregnant? Are you going to get pregnancy symptoms? Is this going to be a normal length pregnancy? How are labor and birth going to work?”

Oliver sighs and tips his head forward so he’s resting his forehead against hers. Felicity is asking all the right questions that they desperately will need answers to if they’re going to deal with this safely, but he has _no clue_. He suddenly feels exhausted and doesn’t know whether it’s the little soul fusion he’s hosting draining his energy or if he’s just _tired_ because he thought he was done dealing with surprises and plot twists in his life. “I don’t know.”

Felicity hesitates before questioning tentatively, “How are you feeling? It’s okay to be scared. God knows I was frightened when I found out I was pregnant with Mia. I can’t imagine how shocked you are considering you don’t, you know, even have a uterus and never thought this could happen. But you know that no matter how weird and wacky this pregnancy thing is, I’m going to be by your side no matter what, right? I mean, it’s… a little piece of me and a little piece of you. That’s beautiful.” She pauses thoughtfully and adds, “But as beautiful as it is, it’s still super, super weird and I’m going to write down a list of questions. It’ll probably be at least two pages long. Because honestly, Oliver, I have _so many_ questions.”

“So do I,” he groans, tipping his forehead onto her shoulder this time. He relaxes a little when Felicity cups the back of his neck and brushes a kiss to the side of his head. “And you know what’s _really_ ironic?”

“What?”

“I’ve been trying _so hard_ to get you pregnant since you got here. I really, really wanted you to have another one of my babies. And now I’m having _your_ baby.”

Felicity laughs. “Oh, how the tables have turned.”

* * *

The next day - days are artificial here but it’s still good to try and keep a relative sense of time passing - Oliver constructs a zero room in the place of one of the Loft’s spare bedrooms. It’s an entirely white, empty space that is perfect for meditating in, and therefore great for astral projection. He and Felicity wrote a list of questions down over dinner last night and he’s brought it along with him so he can hopefully reach the Spectre in the fringes of his mind and get some answers.

Felicity is still asleep, curled up naked and content and very flushed; they celebrated the pregnancy in the only way they really know how, because yes, this is an insane situation, but it’s still their _baby_ in some shape or form. It’s unlikely she’ll wake up for the next couple of hours, worn out as she was, so it’s the perfect time for Oliver to astrally project without outwardly worrying her.

He ends up being separated from his body for four hours. When Oliver wakes up, straining to open his groggy eyes and his brain _hurting_ because of all the new information he’s learned, he’s been curled onto his side with a blanket draped over him. His head is resting on Felicity’s thigh, and she’s sitting next to him while reading a book. She’s been watching over him for hours, protecting his physical form. It’s why the first thing Oliver does when he wakes up is lean up to kiss her. It’s sweet and loving and hopeful, a promise of great things to come.

They sit down together to eat brunch in the form of Spanish omelets as Oliver tells her everything he’s learned.

“So essentially the baby was conceived, or more accurately created, during one of our times having sex,” he starts. “Because by standards of the multiverse, we’re soulmates. Literally. And because of that, whenever we have sex, our souls sort of -” He tries to show what the entwining of the souls looks like using his fingers. Felicity smirks in amusement because he just ends up scowling and nearly dislocating both his ring fingers. “And the Spectre’s essence was able to bind two fragments of our souls together and shove it safe and sound into a pocket dimension that is tethered to me. It’s not actually a _baby_. Our souls don’t have physical forms. It’s more like… a wavelength of light that’s all scrunched up into a ball and kept intact by our eternal love for each other.” The Spectre made it sound much more poetic when it was explained earlier, using concepts of quantum physics and meta-physical, philosophical imagery. Oliver doesn’t think he would be able to put all of it into words, though.

Felicity looks, understandably, a bit disconcerted by this notion. “Wait, so is the baby going to come out as a _blob_ of light, rather than an actual baby?”

“No, it will be an actual baby,” Oliver reassures. “As the Spectre, I can knit together a physical form for them that will behave exactly like a human one. They’ll look, grow and act like a human baby.” He points at her. “ _But_ , that doesn’t mean I get to choose the baby’s sex or what their appearance is. The baby’s soul essence determines that when it takes over the vessel.”

“Does that happen before or after the baby -” Felicity makes an adorable mouth-pop sound and a little mini-explosion hand gesture, “- pops into this dimension?”

“Um.” Oliver frowns, thinking about it. “I guess halfway between? The baby exits the pocket dimension as a light waveform but then when it appears here with us, it will have a physical form.”

Felicity nods, forking some omelet into her mouth and taking a sip of coffee. It’s torture to watch her drink her special vanilla bean brew now that Oliver can’t have any. He’s still not sure whether or not he should be treating his body like it’s pregnant, by not consuming raw seafood, blue cheeses, caffeine, and other things, and taking vitamin supplements. It’s better to be safe than sorry. He and Felicity eat pretty healthily anyway because he cooks all their meals for them and always includes vegetables, lean protein, and fruits, so at least his diet isn’t going to change very much.

“How long will the “pregnancy” be?” she questions curiously, using finger quote marks. “Nine months? Do they need to develop?”

Oliver glances down at his abdomen and takes a sneaky meta-physical peek into the pocket dimension to look at the tiny soul baby. “Well, they don’t need to undertake any development because they don’t _have_ a physical form or organs to make. I… I think it’s got to reinforce the soul fusion before emerging, which will take maybe three days. But then they’re ready to come out whenever.”

“So you can choose when the birth happens?” Felicity looks slightly relieved. “So we’ve got time to prepare. We haven’t got a nursery or a crib or baby clothes or toys or formula anything. All of Mia’s old stuff is back on Earth boxed up in the cabin.”

“Felicity, honey… are you forgetting that I can just wish us a fully stocked and loaded nursery into existence in place of one of the guest bedrooms?” Oliver laughs.

His wife blushes in embarrassment. His heart skips a beat because it’s too cute for him to handle. How did he get so lucky to have Felicity in his life? “Still adjusting to the idea of my husband being an essential god.”

Chuckling, Oliver tips her chin up gently to brush a tender kiss to her lips. Felicity emits a satisfied hum, eyes slipping closed, and then whines unhappily when he’s forced to pull away to refill their glasses with water. “I may be as powerful as a god, but I still have to abide by the laws of the universe. Specifically, the laws of thermodynamics. The baby exiting from the pocket dimension and appearing in this one will be extremely energy-consuming. That energy needs to come from somewhere, and only a cosmic explosion of some form, such as a star going supernova, will produce enough for the “birth” to happen.”

Felicity tilts her head. “When’s the next supernova then?”

“Probably in the next couple of months,” Oliver replies dismissively, with a shrug. He’s not at all worried about it. Supernovas occur all over the universe all the time.

“Have you checked?”

“I don’t need to.”

Felicity shoots him a disbelieving look. “Oliver, you should check.”

“Fine, I will, but I don’t know what you’re so worried -” He checks. He drops his glass. It shatters on the floor into thousands of miniscule shards. “- _Shit_.”

She hurries towards him, grasping his arms as he nearly collapses when the panic attack slams into him. “Oliver!?”

“FOUR YEARS!?” he shrieks, unable to stop the hysteria building in his chest from bubbling over. He falls to his knees, hyperventilating as he stares at his wife agitatedly. Felicity manages to force him back onto a kitchen chair. “The next supernova is in _FOUR YEARS?_ Are you _kidding?_ IS THIS MY UNIVERSE’S SICK IDEA OF A JOKE? I have to be pregnant FOR FOUR YEARS?!”

Felicity grabs and frames his face between her palms, forcing him to meet her eyes. Her strange calmness causes him to focus on her, copying her slow breathing. “OLIVER! Did we not _just_ cover the fact that you’re as powerful as a god? It’s okay. We don’t need to wait for the next supernova to happen, you can cause one whenever you want.”

Oliver blinks and stops shaking. She’s right. He can induce a supernova with the snap of his fingers. This pregnancy can truly be as long or as short as he wants. “Oh yeah.”

Snickering, she strokes her thumb over his cheek and comments, “Those pregnancy hormones have got you good already, huh. Peanut only came into existence yesterday and you’re already experiencing morning sickness and heightened emotions. Now you’re going to know exactly what it was like for me when I was pregnant with Mia.”

“I’m sorry, did you just call the baby Peanut?”

“Yes. Problem?”

“You’re allergic to peanuts,” he says. “Even now.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re the one carrying the baby and not me,” Felicity smirks.

Oliver sticks his tongue out at her. “Ha ha. You’re so funny. Utterly hilarious. The biggest comedian in the multiverse.” He regrets mocking her when she begins tickling his sides. A chase ensues around the Loft, ending when Felicity shoves him onto the couch, straddles him and kisses him silly to stop his pleads for mercy. “Stop, stop! Uncle, I call uncle! You’re gonna make Peanut start doing somersaults in the pocket dimension!”

Felicity sits back on his lap, triumphant. “I win. And if I’ve bested you, a god, that makes _me_ a goddess. And Peanut is… is there a technical term for a baby god?”

“An angel?” Oliver suggests.

“Yes, Peanut is our angel.” His wife pokes his stomach gently. “You’re our angel.”

“They can’t hear you. They’re in a separate pocket dimension. They’re not even technically _in_ my abdomen -”

“Do you want me to start tickling you again?”

“Peanut is most definitely in my abdomen and you can talk to them whenever you want.”

* * *

Oliver decides that he must have pissed Fate off somehow, or his new universe _is_ playing a joke on him, when he starts craving crunchy salted peanut butter that evening.

* * *

Over the next few days, Oliver and Felicity bask in the fact that they’ll be having their third child soon while planning the construction of the nursery. They’ve planned for him to create a supernova in a week’s time, so they have to get things sorted as soon as possible. Occasionally, Oliver will get a pregnancy symptom like sudden nausea, debilitating fatigue or an insistent craving, but mostly its smooth sailing - apart from his mood swings and desperate need to be coddled.

He doesn’t know why he’s yearning for so much affection, but he’ll find himself in tears if he doesn’t get enough kisses and hugs. It’s a little mortifying, actually. Back on Earth, Oliver used to have PTSD-triggered touch aversion that meant that while he did like affectionate touch, there were times when he didn’t like being touched at all. That seems to have completely vanished now he’s the Spectre. Felicity doesn’t seem to mind his neurotic behavior - in fact, she seems to enjoy the chance to lavish constant attention on him - and is all too happy to cuddle with him on the couch and in bed, rub his feet and play with his hair. Like how Oliver used to chat with Mia when she was growing in Felicity’s womb, Felicity likes to tell Peanut stories of how they met and fell in love.

Once or twice, Oliver is required to leave their home to complete his Spectre duties, watching and guarding his new multiverse. It’s always then that the morning sickness hits, his insides fizzing, and when he checks on Peanut in the pocket dimension, his heart aches to see that they’re vibrating, upset that they’re away from Felicity. Peanut wants to be close to their mom. Luckily, because there’s no multiverse-destroying threat on the horizon, Oliver doesn’t have to leave too often.

“We need to discuss baby names,” Oliver says, as he lounges on the couch eating peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon. Felicity is across the room at a safe distance, flicking through catalogs, websites, and Pinterest for baby furniture so that they can decide that Oliver should conjure. “We can’t actually name them Peanut. I know you like Lucas for a boy; I was thinking that could be a possible middle name.”

“And I know you’ve always liked the idea of a son named after Tommy or your dad,” she smiles at him softly.

“We can’t name them after Tommy,” he shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“I know it’s a Jewish tradition not to name your children after living relatives. Tommy’s alive now because I changed the timeline in the new multiverse,” Oliver explains. “And I don’t think Robert works with Lucas. I’ve been brainstorming Hebrew names. Jacob, Adam, Samuel, Nathan…”

“It doesn’t have to be a Hebrew name.”

Oliver’s lips tick up into a nervous smile. “I’d like it to be. I know your faith is important to you.”

She looks surprised but pleased. “Throwing some more contenders into the ring… James, Benjamin, Ethan, Owen. For a girl, I like Ada or Addie. Short for Adeline. What about you?”

“Ophelia.”

She laughs. “Finally been catching up on your Shakespeare?”

He winks. “You know it. Ada’s a lovely name. I like Ella, Grace, and Charlotte too.”

“Maybe we should name them after whatever star you explode to produce the supernova that gives them the energy to be birthed,” Felicity muses.

“Honey, let’s _not_ do that, because fate always deals us a shady hand and I don’t want our baby to be named after an exploding _anything_.”

They table the baby name discussion for later on in the week, when they’ll produce a shortlist and then narrow that down to pick the names. Having decided the nursery is going to be jungle-themed, Oliver snaps his fingers to paint the walls like a lush rainforest with panthers, tigers, birds of paradise and monkeys in less than a second. They knew that Mia was going to be a girl when they decorated her nursery white, baby pink, and light grey, so it’s fun to design a new one.

Seeing the completed room for Peanut for the first time makes Oliver burst into tears. He’s always wanted multiple kids with Felicity; raising William with her was amazing, and he wishes he had more time with his son. The few months he had with baby Mia, taking care of their infant daughter who he and Felicity abandoned their old lives in Star City to protect, were the best months of his life. He’s so excited to be a parent again.

Thinking about Will and Mia, though, reminds Oliver that he needs to figure out a way to tell his kids that they have a new sibling. Maybe he can contact them in their dreams, or through cosmic signs. It is sad to think that Will and Mia might never get a chance to meet their little brother/sister in person, but perhaps he and Felicity will one day figure out a way to get back to Earth so they can all be together as a family. He’s tried making portals to Earth already, but they haven’t worked; as the Spectre, he’s not as in tune with the new multiverse than he was with the old one, despite the new one being his own creation. They’ll find a way, though. He knows they will. They’re the best team.

“What are you thinking about?” Felicity murmurs, sidling up to him and resting her chin on his shoulder as she winds her arms around his waist.

“William and Mia,” he sighs. “I miss them.”

“Me too,” she mumbles against his t-shirt. “And it was difficult leaving them, but they knew I needed to go. They gave me their blessing. They’re together and looking after each other, and I’m certain they’re fine. They’re all grown up, and just as strong and courageous as their father.”

“As their mother,” Oliver corrects. “I was thinking about how we might tell them they have a younger sibling.”

Felicity snickers. “Are we going to mention that you’re the one pregnant with them?”

He glares half-heartedly at his wife. “You _know_ they’ll tease the hell out of me,” he complains. “I was thinking either a dream or a cosmic sign.”

“Hmm, better go with dreams. And make it very literal. Our kids would struggle to believe or understand something metaphorical.”

* * *

Down on Earth in 2041, both William Clayton Smoak-Queen and Mia Smoak-Queen wake up feverish and sweating from the weirdest, most disturbing shared dream they’ve ever experienced that featured their father visibly heavily pregnant with glowing green eyes, and then their mother exclaiming joyfully, “It’s a meta-physical wavelength of light!” as she raised a luminescent squealing baby into the air Lion King style.

Oliver doesn’t regret it. Felicity did say that it should be literal, after all.

* * *

Today is the day, and Oliver would be lying if he didn’t admit he’s a little nervous. He’s prepped and ready to induce the supernova of a star that is trillions of light-years away from Earth and should have no effect on the surrounding galaxy - prepped and ready to welcome their baby into the multiverse.

Felicity is just as anxious but attempting to hide it behind her enthusiastic babbling over breakfast. She’s been pacing in between the kitchen and the new nursery all morning, impatient for the arrival of Peanut. They decided yesterday to have the “birth” happen just after lunchtime, so Oliver has the most energy, but they’re both getting tired of waiting. They’re incredibly excited.

All in all, it’s not as dramatic an affair as they thought it might be. Oliver sits on the couch cross-legged with a yellow baby blanket over his knees, and closes his eyes, concentrating. It takes a minute for him to search for the correct star and then trigger its supernova. As soon as it starts, Oliver is rocked by a wave of celestial energy that smacks him in the face and overwhelms his soul as it surges through him.

There’s an audible _pop_.

When he opens his eyes, Felicity is gasping in delight, and in his lap, there’s a tiny naked baby boy with the most stunning blue eyes and a tuft of blond hair who appeared out of nowhere. Well, Oliver says nowhere. He came from the pocket dimension that seems to have dissipated.

Peanut is absolutely _perfect_.

“Hello,” he welcomes the baby with a grin that stretches from ear to ear, his heart swelling with how much love he has for the new member of their family. He wraps them up in the blanket tenderly and then cradles the infant to his chest, shuffling sideways so Felicity can jump onto the cushions beside him and coo at the baby. “You’re here!”

“I think that might have been the quickest baby birth to ever occur,” Felicity laughs. “It’s so great to finally meet you, Ethan Lucas Smoak-Queen.” Ethan turns to face his mom in a very impressive show of motor control, blinking at her. “Oh, he is totally your super child. He’s not even crying!”

“That’s because he knows who his mommy and daddy are and he feels completely safe.” Oliver rests the baby in the crook of his legs while Felicity grabs the newborn onesie waiting on the other end of the couch, so they can dress him. It’s green and has arrows patterned on it. Because of course they’ve got to dress their son like that.

Once he’s clothed, Felicity takes Ethan carefully and cradles him, looking very much like she’s found a new center of her universe. It’s okay, Oliver doesn’t mind sharing that position with his Peanut.

“Oh, you are wonderful,” she whispers to Ethan, stroking over his tiny head and playing with his little hands. She tears up when his fingers curl around her forefinger and grip on possessively. “Yes, baby, you’re so special, aren’t you? Oliver?”

“Yes, hun?”

She glances up at him, determination on her face. “I’m definitely not done having babies with you.”

“You’re carrying the next one!” he yelps.

“We’ll see about that.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you survived until the end
> 
> i applaud you
> 
> saying thank you for reading feels weird in this circumstance
> 
> twitter: @lexiblackbriar


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